


love in an elevator

by tuesdaysgone



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-25
Updated: 2009-03-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:57:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaysgone/pseuds/tuesdaysgone





	love in an elevator

This is in response to a prompt from [](http://maryangel200.livejournal.com/profile)[**maryangel200**](http://maryangel200.livejournal.com/) , whose writing exercises seem to all end in porn. Well, when the prompt is 'Frank/Gerard elevator sex' I guess that's a foregone conclusion!

Frank/Gerard PWP. 1522 words. NC-17.

Post-show was always a whirlwind, a high. Hugs and hooting, water guzzling, good-natured wrestling. It took about thirty minutes for the adrenaline to wear off, till Bob started rubbing his wrists absently, till Mikey reached for his phone, till Ray settled into the bus studio with his giant headphones. Waiting for showers, if there was one. Waiting for the buses to whisk them off to the next city. Or, like tonight, waiting for a plastic-y, impersonal hotel desk clerk to hand over the little folders with the spoils of their personal war inside. Room keys. Paradise. Whatever. Frank wasn't going to differentiate at the moment.

Gerard slumped next to him, absently clicking a buckle on his backpack; open, shut, open, shut. Frank tapped the side of his foot against his carryon bag. He flashed a quick look at Gerard when he realized their fidgeting had synced, and met Gerard's eyes. Gerard was watching him. Frank raised an eyebrow questioningly; what, do I have something on my face? The corner of Gerard's mouth twitched. Over at the front desk, a conversation filtered in; something about the card writer being broken. There was one key made, the clerk told an exasperated-looking Worm, but for the rest, she'd have to send her maintenance man to open the doors, till her night manager located the backup machine.

"Who wants it?" Worm asked the guys, and Frank was not entirely surprised when Gerard jumped in first.

"Me. Me and Frank," and oh, that was a surprise. They switched off, most nights, who got the coveted single room, and Frank was sure this was Gerard's turn. The rest of the band looked just as confused, till Gerard shrugged a shoulder and grinned, "Since the rest of you are gonna have to wait a while...you can draw straws or something for the single." Bob, Ray, and Mikey immediately started arguing about which game of chance should be given the task of divining who was allotted the precious single, and Gerard stood up to take the card key, pulling at Frank's hoodie sleeve. He'd have been dragged along if he hadn't moved voluntarily, and Gerard didn't let go as they clumped through the lobby, Frank's wheeled bag trundling behind them.

Gerard pressed the button for the elevator, and they stood in silence as the green numbers counted down, till the doors hissed open in front of them and Gerard motioned Frank in ahead of him with an exaggeratedly chivalrous wave of the hand. Frank shoved his carryon into the corner and pressed the button for the seventh floor. The elevator lurched into motion. Two and a half floor numbers slid by before Gerard reached over with a snake-quick hand and slapped the stop button. All Frank had time to say was, "Gee, what - " before Gerard was on him. On him, in a way that was familiar onstage in front of thousands of screaming fans and oh-so-unfamiliar in a tiny, ancient elevator, a tinny buzzer signaling its annoyance at being stopped between floors.

Gerard pushed him till his shoulders thudded against the elevator wall, nosing at his jaw till his head thunked back as well. His teeth prickled along the stubble Frank had neglected to shave that day, and one hand splayed across his sternum to hold him still while the other hand with its clever fingers wormed its way straight down the front of Frank's ridiculously tight jeans. Frank moaned, too surprised to form words and still too ridiculously close to his post-show euphoria to do anything but let the sudden clenching wave of want swamp him, settling heavy in his gut. Gerard huffed out a disgusted breath as the fastenings of Frank's pants refused to yield to his advances, yanking his hand back out and stepping in between Frank's feet, grinding his own denim-covered cock against Frank's with a sigh.

"Frankie," he breathed straight into Frank's ear. "Fuck, I have to...I can't wait...please...." And Frank saw, now, the manic light in his eyes, that had started about halfway through their set, when Frank had dropped to his knees during "House of Wolves", playing several measures with his cheek against Gerard's thigh before he finally collapsed onto his back, writhing like a mad thing. Gerard had held him still, then, with a boot toe to the shoulder, and something had flared in his eyes, yes, but what happened onstage usually stayed onstage. Usually, and Frank wouldn't pretend nothing had ever transpired from it, but nothing like this. Nothing like Gerard, twisting his fingers in Frank's mop of sweaty, too-long hair and yanking his mouth close, licking between his parted lips like he had every right. He did have every right; had always had every right, but had never made a single attempt to test the theory. Till now.

Mouths sealed together, tongues battling between their lips, Frank's hands scrabbling helplessly against the layers of cotton shirt, hoodie, denim jacket in which Gerard had wrapped himself for the walk from the bus door to the hotel door. "You wear too many damn clothes," he growled, the spit-slick surface of his teeth sliding across the tender skin of Gerard's neck till he could latch down on the edge of Gerard's collarbone, the one thing Frank's pushing and pulling had been able to uncover. He bit down, hard, just as his fingers found the edge of Gerard's shirt and his hands slid sweaty and warm up Gerard's spine. Gerard jerked helplessly away from the bite, the motion pushing their hips together even harder.

They both moaned, and Frank's hands slipped around to Gerard's crotch, fingers yanking his fly open as Gerard's hands fastened hard around his hipbones. Gerard bucked wildly into the circling press of Frank's fingers, and at his hissed profanity, Gerard groaned, "Fuck, sorry, no, don't stop." He reached for Frank's jeans, finally popping the stubborn button, and then long white fingers were closing around Frank's cock, pulling it out of his jeans. Gerard angled their hips together again and wrapped a hand around them both, and Frank bit back a shout at the sensation of hot, silky skin against hot, silky skin. He reached out with both hands, sliding them up over Gerard's shoulders. Frank had intended, maybe, to yank him in for another kiss, but Gerard chose in that moment to squeeze his fingers around their cocks, starting to move. The sensation was rough, just this side of painful, until Gerard stroked to the heads, clever fingers swirling around them both, spreading precome down the shafts. Everything else forgotten, Frank just tipped their foreheads together, noses touching, lips barely brushing, panting breaths into each other's mouths. Frank's other hand clenched, bone-bruisingly tight, around Gerard's upper arm, and Gerard braced his free hand on the wall above Frank's head. So close, so.... Frank sank his teeth into Gerard's bicep to muffle his shout as he came. Gerard followed a moment later, his broken moan vibrating, trapped, against the soft skin of Frank's neck.

Frank let his head fall back against Gerard's as their frantic breathing slowed back down to something approaching normal. The elevator buzzer suddenly intruded, sounding angier than it had before, and Gerard swore softly, pulling his hand away to wipe it against the leg of his jeans. Frank reached out to hit the start button, and by the time the elevator reached their floor, they'd already managed to zip and tuck themselves into some semblance of decency. They shuffled down the hallway, with its typical violently ugly hotel carpet, until they reached their allotted room. Frank put a hand over the card slot before Gerard could slide the card in, and looked up at Gerard's face for the first time since they'd breached the elevator doors. "I have to know," he said. "What was that?"

Gerard twisted a strand of black hair around his finger, eyes meeting Frank's then skittering away, before returning in a blaze of green. "I...there are always so many people around, and when we walk in this room there's going to be the shower, the tv, the guys calling up in twenty minutes to see if we want pizza. I just wanted - needed - to be somewhere where I knew it was only us...if only for a few minutes."

Frank stared at him for a moment, gauging. His earnest gaze, the flush of color still staining his cheekbones, the way his teeth worried the corner of his lower lip. Okay. So he was surprised. Never let it be said that Frank Iero couldn't go with the flow. "Gerard," he said slowly, huskily. "New plan for the evening. We won't turn on the tv, we'll take the phone off the hook. We'll put the chain on the door. And if we shower, we'll do it together. How does that sound to you?"

Gerard's face bloomed with a sudden smile as he slid the card into the reader and shoved the door open. Frank yanked him inside, and as Gerard's back came to a sudden stop against the opposite wall, Frank's mouth muffled his answer, but it tasted like a 'good, yes, please'.


End file.
